It’s odd
Thoroughly stupid, in fact
That a man
Can chase so many rabbits at once
Some are larger
Most smaller
They have every color
Scattering so quickly
When the damn kale is gone
Or they want to escape
From me
They’re wise in that
Because I’d dash their heads against the brick
Cook them, and eat them
Even the large ones
Are not that fucking big

The proof
That a man was not given much sense
Is that he can chase the rabbits
So many god-damned times

It seems to me that poetry
Is weighed down by profundity
Seriously, this is just words together
Nothing more, but nothing’s better
Whether or not you’re clear in this
You can make worlds delirious
There is no need to be vainglorious
When you realize

I traveled down the rolling hills
Across the fetid plains
Across rolling desert sands
That nearly dashed my brains
In rags and dust and grime and shit I walked down to the sea
My forefathers were all farmers
But there’s vagabond in me Continue reading →